Pregnant, Dependent on GPS, and Rambling

I've lived in the Twin Cities for six months now, but the first three months I spent on the couch trying not to rehash my last meal, so unfortunately for me, I have not grasped just how this highway system works yet. We live in a small suburb somewhere between Minneapolis and St. Paul-I'm not really good with maps but people would say South East of St. Paul. My husband-an engineer whose mind is very linear-will blame our handy GPS we kindly refer to as Carmen the Garmin, but I just blame my necessity to get lost several times before learning to not make the same mistakes again.

I managed to finally meet up with my friend who lives and works in Southern Minneapolis for lunch and shopping. On the way there I had to run to the post office before driving across town so my foot was exceptionally leaded. Luckily for me, there was a attentive officer a block away that managed to clock me going ten miles over the speed limit. I unzipped my coat and rubbed the baby for good luck and sympathy saying a silent prayer while I handed over my license to the uniformed man. I'm not sure if it was because I looked uncomfortably pregnant, put on makeup that morning, or the fact I didn't try to talk my way out of a ticket, but I managed to get off with a warning. One catastrophe averted.

Driving down the interstate, carefully watching my speed, I argued with Carmen the GPS and was frequently greeted with her favorite phrase "recalculating". I always question her choice of routes and tend to think that I know best, which is usually wrong. I managed to take a twenty minute detour after missing a turn but ended up skirting along a quiet frozen lake with walkers and joggers braving the snow and ice. If I could find the lake again I would consider visiting it in the summer when I can see my feet and even my belly button again. I ultimately made it to my friend's work to pick her up, thankful to have found a parking space that didn't require parallel maneuvering.

I'm afraid the way home was way worse for my luck. I dropped my friend off in Minneapolis at the very height of rush hour-people in suits driving their shiny Dotsons and Neons-oh wait that is an Alanis Morrisette song. Regardless, I was a small town Iowa girl whose idea of traffic is getting stuck behind a tractor for a few minutes on the highway thrown into the buzzing cars darting in and out of lanes.

Carmen seemed to be full of spite for me on the way home. I followed her directions, but after a while I started to realize that I had no idea where I was driving. I passed through the sky scrapers of Minneapolis, a few suburbs, and then I was starting to see signs for the state capital. Somehow I had managed to drive through the heart of St. Paul-past two car accidents-and endless minutes of creeping traffic. I nearly had a breakdown in my emotional pregnant state, swearing to learn the roads and not rely on Carmen to find my way home but then ninety minutes later I thankfully pulled into my garage-still painfully unaware of which roads led home.

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